


If You Beckon

by orphan_account



Series: My Best Girl [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1940s, Breaking Up & Making Up, Crossdressing, Fluff and Angst, Genderfuck, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Swing Dancing, Wartime
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-18
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-13 16:57:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2158281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'It's alright, it's not exactly the time for it, is it? It's not like I can take them with me when I ship out.'</p><p>'When <i>we</i> ship out,' Steve corrected, ignoring Bucky's long suffering glance.</p><p>'Stevie,' he sighed, as they turned the corner into their street. But Steve just ignored him. They'd had this conversation enough times now, and they'd have it plenty more. He just wanted to skip it this once.</p><p>'Have you been trying the thrift shops?'</p><p>Bucky just rolled his eyes and huffed out a laugh, apparently as happy as Steve to gloss over their argument again. 'No, I've been trying to spend what's left of our coupons on “clothes for my sister”.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [alpha-lobito](http://alpha-lobito.tumblr.com/) for some great beta-ing! ... Back way too long ago before I totally got distracted from this fic. Whoops. 
> 
> ANYWAY have a messy, relationship ups-and-downs-y fic about Bucky crossdressing.

Steve could feel Bucky coming up behind him, a familiar presence over his shoulder.

'That fat-head is havin' an alright time of it, ain’t he?' he said, looking at the poster tacked to the brick wall. The paper was starting to peel a little around the edges, scraped away with the glue on the wall. But the image was bright and clear: A grinning face with ruddy cheeks, wearing a uniform and helmet, lifting a metal cup up cheerfully towards the viewer. _Do with less – so **they'll** have enough._ Bucky's hand coming up to curl around Steve's neck. It lingered there for only the shortest moment before he moved it to scruff playfully at Steve's hair instead.

Steve dipped his head. 'Wish we were in his shoes,' he replied, glancing at his friend with a wry grin. Bucky had caught up with him on the way back from the rations line, and the paper bag Steve was carrying at his chest was unevenly packed with dried beans, tinned fruit and vegetables. It was heavy in his arms, but it was hard not to wish it was heavier still. 

'No you don't.' Bucky waved off his comment. 'He's probably got boot rot. There's a reason they only painted to the shoulders. Here, let me take that.' He held out his arms for the groceries, and for once Steve passed them over without argument. Chest still aching from a bout of flu he hadn't quite gotten over yet, Steve wasn't having any fun with the increasingly chilly days and just this trip down to the grocers in the cold had tired him out plenty.

They turned away from the poster, and began to wander back towards their apartment.

'We're out of red stamps,' Steve said. 'I got a stick of butter, but that's all.'

'Aw, fat-head'll be happy, he's probably sitting pretty with three steaks and at least... twelve sticks of butter.'

Steve snickered at Bucky's sarcastic tone, and looked down at the sidewalk beneath their feet. It didn't make much difference to him how much boot rot or butter the guy in the poster had. 'Any luck?' he asked, changing the subject.

'Nope,' Bucky replied, shuffling the paper bag to his other arm. He slung his free one around Steve's shoulders. 'It's alright, it's not exactly the time for it, is it? It's not like I can take them with me when I ship out.'

'When _we_ ship out,' Steve corrected, ignoring Bucky's long suffering glance.

'Stevie,' he sighed, as they turned the corner into their street. But Steve just ignored him. They'd had this conversation enough times now, and they'd have it plenty more. He just wanted to skip it this once.

'Have you been trying the thrift shops?'

Bucky just rolled his eyes and huffed out a laugh, apparently as happy as Steve to gloss over their argument again. 'No, I've been trying to spend what's left of our coupons on “clothes for my sister”,' he drawled, voice low and one foot on the steps outside their building.

Steve dug around in his pocket for his keys. 'Oh, sorry, yeah. Of course. You wouldn't do that,' he teased. 'That's why this shirt has _mismatching_ patches on the elbows. Because we totally have enough stamps for new duds.'

'Okay, _you_ try finding ladies shoes in your size in a thrift shop, Steve,' Bucky said, pushing in front of him through the doorway, and bumping his shoulder gently as he went past and up the stairwell.

'No thanks, that's your thing.' Steve followed him up the stairs. The door swung shut below them, blocking out the cold air. Climbing the stairs was always tough on Steve's chest when he was recovering from a sickness, and by the time they reached their front door at the top floor he was wheezing softly.

'Looking forward to the front?' Bucky asked jokingly, but his eyes were hard, and Steve couldn't help but just glare at him and pass over the keys. He gestured to the door and braced himself on his knees, taking in deep breaths.

'Leave off,' he muttered. Bucky swung the door open and moved inside, dropped the groceries on their kitchen counter. Straightening, Steve rubbed his hand over his forehead, and found Bucky reaching out to pull him into the room.

'Sorry,' Bucky murmured, and pushed the door shut behind them. Then he leaned in and pinned Steve against the door, grinning slyly.

'The curtains are open,' Steve pointed out.

'I'll close them in a second,' replied Bucky, moving forward to press his forehead against Steve's. His breath was hot against his face. 'Right after I kiss you.'

Steve snickered. 'Doll, you're a dish, but you're not that clever are you?'

Bucky kissed him. It was a familiar kiss, the sort of short kiss that left Steve smiling into his mouth, and it was over as quickly as it begun.

'And the world didn't end,' Bucky said as he pulled away and sauntered over to the window to draw the blinds. Steve wondered if the neighbors found it weird they'd kept the curtains closed so much these last couple of months.

But it wasn't quite true, what Bucky said. The world wasn't ending as long as they stayed in their apartment with the rest of the planet blocked out. And there was an ocean of distance between the shells of falling bombs and the debris of the battleships in Pearl Harbor that were still drifting in the Pacific.

'You gonna get changed?' Steve asked as he wandered over to the kitchen to unpack the groceries into the shelves.

'Eventually,' Bucky replied, throwing himself down on the sofa and picking up Steve's sketchbook from where it has been left on the floor. He was still wearing his work clothes; scuffed and muddy boots and a shirt that always carried the lingering smell of sweat. 'Where was that one you were doing the other day?'

Steve knew what drawing he was talking about: Bucky stretched out horizontally on his bed, head propped up on one hand and ankles folded tightly. Legs long and covered in dark stockings, held up in places by a garter belt -- although with two of the clips undone and just falling haphazardly on the sheets. A navy blue boned waspie at his waist, creating the impression of curves, and his other hand trailing lazily across his chest. Glaring daggers at Steve even through the sketched lines of the pencil drawing.

Steve chuckled to himself thinking about that expression. ' _Do you have any idea how hard it was to get these, Steve?_ ' Bucky had asked, exasperated. ' _And now, rather than fuck me, you're going to spend a solid hour drawing me? Really?_ '

It was necessary, Steve had insisted. And he stood by that.

'Somewhere towards the back,' he replied, leaning on the kitchen counter as Bucky flicked through the pages of the sketchbook.

Bucky laughed as he finally found it. 'I look angry,' he said.

'Draw 'em as I see 'em,' Steve said, turning around to get started on dinner.

He didn't hear Bucky moving across the room until he was right behind him, murmuring into his ear and kissing his neck. 'I wasn't really bent outta shape. I like it when you draw me.'

'I got that impression eventually, Buck.'

Bucky laughed softly against Steve's skin, darting his tongue out to swipe over the dip behind his ear. Steve wriggled against him – he was sensitive in that spot, and the feeling of Bucky kissing him there always sent shivers up his spine. But he shrugged his shoulder, nudging him off.

'Go on, get,' he urged. 'I'm cooking.'

'Is that what you call it?'

'Oh, you're complaining now? Do _you_ want to make dinner?' Steve asked, turning around to smirk at Bucky, who was already backing off.

'No, no, I love your cooking, Steve,' he insisted with a grin. 'I can't wait for another night of mystery meat and tinned stew on biscuits. I'm just going to--'

'Yeah, scram,' Steve said, and turned back to crouch down next to the meat safe. Bucky disappeared into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him, creating another little microcosm in their little world that was their flat. Steve thought that the world was made of microcosms these days – little universes that were the theaters of war. Each trench, each camp, each home front. They were all worlds apart, separated by the reality that they could never unite in one experience.

Even while the world pulled together, nations gathering resources and sharing troops and teaching their soldiers two word slogans that would get them by in whatever country they were shored – Even while the posters and the newsreels would remind the people on the home-front that whatever they could do here would help their boys – Even through all of it, it was really nothing if your little universe was in a comfortable apartment at home where you could make dinner and kiss your best friend against the door.

Steve fried off a few squares of meat in a pan with some lard, and added a tin of vegetable soup. It fell in indecipherable lumps into the pan, coagulated carrots and beans that he broke up with the handle of the wooden spoon. Bucky didn't emerge until he was serving it up on plates.

'Hell, Buck,' he said, finding himself grinning lopsidedly as Bucky wandered into the kitchen. He was wearing a blue button down dress, a red belt at the waist with a little white rounded collar and white cuffs around the short sleeves. Steve had never seen it before, but that wasn't too much of a surprise. He was beginning to suspect that Bucky might have been hoarding these outfits for a while, whenever the opportunity struck.

His short hair was combed and pinned, and he was even wearing a faint touch of rouge on his cheeks and paint on his lips.

'Well I thought,' he said with a shrug of one shoulder, 'If we're gonna be off to boot camp before long... might be the last chance to really make an effort, you know?'

Steve kissed him, leaving their dinner to go cold for now. Some things were more important, like the way Bucky's lips melted against his and smeared red all over both their mouths, and the way his arms wrapped around Steve like he was the most invaluable thing in the world, and the sound Bucky's heels always made against the kitchen tiles.

*

'Steve, you've gotta be kidding me, pal,' Bucky said, grabbing him by the wrist. All Steve could see were the letters 4F branded upon his vision. Sharp, bold letters and thick, hard angles. A judgment of his character.

'I'm just gonna talk to them,' he replied, already turned on his heel to head back into the recruitment center. Bucky was holding him back, pulling him past the line of recruits. Steve heard a few snicker, one call out: ' _Hey, who let a kid in there?_ '

'You're not gonna talk to them,' Bucky said, stumbling forward as Steve pulled out what strength he had to make a push for the door. He recovered, and grabbed Steve with both hands, tugging him back. 'You're just gonna be bullheaded and it won't make a difference, Steve. C'mon.'

'No, Buck--'

Several people in the line were watching them tussle – and tussling is what they were doing now, Steve making another dash for the door and Bucky grabbing him around the waist and pulling him bodily away from the recruitment office.

' _No_ , you're gonna buy me a drink,' Bucky said, lifting Steve off his feet to turn them around and drop him down facing the other direction.

Steve sighed, shoulders slumping. 'Course I will,' he said. 'I'm proud of you, Buck. But gimme three minutes.'

'Three minutes to what? Find a cure for rheumatic fever?'

'Sure!'

Bucky huffed out a resigned laugh. He pushed on Steve's back with enough force to make him stumble forward, nearly losing his balance. Steve smiled to himself. At least Bucky didn't treat him like he was a delicate thing, frail and on the edge of breaking. 'Come on, you punk, we'll find a bar.'

'I'll go back tomorrow,' Steve insisted, but moved at Bucky's urging past the recruitment line and into a different street.

'Course you will.'

'And the next day.'

'You'll get locked up, Rogers.' There was a hard edge to Bucky’s voice. 

'Fine.'

'Fine, it's not like I'll be here to stop you.'

They were having the argument again, and Steve buried his hands in his trouser pockets, not looking at at his friend. Instead he watched the cars trundle past on the street, and the busy pockets of life on the sidewalks. On the other side of the road, a group of girls waved at Bucky, and he nodded back with a grin. He nudged Steve in the ribs.

'The ladies are waving at us,' he muttered. 'Wave back.'

'They're waving at _you_ , Buck,' he replied. He could never quite work out whether Bucky was being genuinely oblivious when he acted as if the gals were chasing after both of them, or whether he just liked to pretend that he was. Or maybe he was making fun.

'Can you just...' Bucky gritted his teeth. They kept walking, in the general direction of the bar a few streets away they would sometimes go to, but Steve had the feeling that Bucky wanted to just stop and have it out. 'You're gonna be safe, here. And there's plenty of good work to do.'

'I could be doing better work on the front.'

'Is it _better_ to have your brains blown out the second you duck your thick skull over the top of a trench, huh?'

'At least I'd be where I could help the effort!'

Bucky clenched his fists, looking skyward. 'For fucks-- _Steve_! Stop being an idealist for five minutes, okay?'

Steve ignored him, and this time Bucky really did stop in his tracks. With a groan, Steve turned around, bringing his hands out of his pockets to raise them questioningly. An old man coming out of the book-shop he paused in front of nearly walked right into Bucky, but he didn't notice. He was glaring at Steve.

'Are we getting a drink or what?' Steve said.

'Just—' Bucky swallowed. 'How hard is it for you to understand that I _don't want to watch you die_. Or worse, find out you died off somewhere else where I maybe could have protected you if I'd been there. I can't even bear to _think_ about it, Steve. I lo—' He cut himself off from finishing the words, but they were painted on his face where he was looking imploringly at Steve.

They didn't name whatever it was they had. They were friends, even between each other. They didn't say things like that. The fight went out of Steve immediately.

'Five minutes,' he said, moving forward to hug Bucky, whose arms wrapped tight around his shoulders. For just a brief moment, Steve felt him bury his nose in his hair and take a deep, shaky breath. 'I don't want to get a knock on the door one day either, Buck, and just be left in our apartment with nothing but memories and moments of you.'

'You won't, I promise,' Bucky said, and they pulled apart, trying to make the hug look as casual and friendly as possible. Steve wiped his hands on his trousers nervously, flattening the seam.

'We better go,' he said. 'A couple of drinks and then home to bed, okay? I gotta be up early to see my best girl to the train.'

Bucky grinned at him, lopsided and flushing high on his cheeks.

Later that evening, Bucky pulled him into the apartment and shut the door behind them. Steve fell back against the hardwood and smiled at his friend, his vision just a little hazy from the alcohol in his system.

But Bucky sighed and said: 'I think... I think that after I go, off to boot camp in the morning. I think we should, uh, not be this anymore.'

Steve blinked at him.

'Soon you'll be pretty much the only young fella in the city, buddy,' Bucky continued, running a shaking hand through his hair. 'You'll be practically swimming in dames.'

Steve shook his head. 'Buck-- Bucky, no,' he stammered. 'You're going to boot camp, not shipping out.'

'Yeah, and we got six weeks coming up when I'm going to get maybe a couple of nights of leave, and I think we should spend 'em taking some nice gals out on the town or something. Or it's only going to be harder when I do get my orders and haul off.'

'You're being dumb,' Steve replied stoutly. 'And I don't acknowledge it.'

Rubbing a hand over his face, Bucky laughed. 'You can't just...'

'Can and am.'

'Fine,' Bucky said, as Steve reached out to grab his jacket collar, pulling him close. Their lips brushed, but they didn't kiss, not quite. 'Be as stubborn as you like, it doesn't change anything. I'm going to have to insist that once I'm shipped out, you find yourself a good girl. Promise me.'

'Can't,' Steve said. 'I've already found the best.'

*

The light through the window was cold, and came from below more than above – from the streetlamps, and from the odd flash of car headlights. It illuminated the room just barely. Bucky lay back on the bed under the window, stripped bare except for a two row necklace made from cheap green glass beads that caught the light here and there, refracting on the walls.

Steve kissed his neck and fingered him open, and Bucky lay there gasping and tightening his legs around Steve's hips.

'Well, we just won't sleep tonight,' Steve said offhandedly, burying his fingers as deep as he could inside Bucky and feeling him tense around him.

'Jesus, Steve--'

'Shh.'

'Get _in_ me.'

'Later,' Steve said, and crooked his fingers to knead that sweet spot inside Bucky that would make him shiver and cry out.

By the time they slept, the light from the window was tinged gold and dusted pink with the first hints of sunrise, and Steve dozed resentfully, wishing that morning might never have intruded itself upon them.


	2. Chapter 2

A year later, Steve pulled Bucky out of a HYDRA facility. He was hard eyed and coughing, and they had both changed. All Steve could think of through the fog of relief that Bucky was _not dead_ , was getting him to safety.

It would still be at least a twelve hour walk back to camp from Azzano, and it didn't take long for Steve to notice that Bucky was not well. He insisted on walking, not going up on one of the tanks with the other sick or wounded men, but it quickly became obvious to Steve that his labored breaths as they walked and bouts of coughing weren't just caused by the smoke from the factory.

'Had a bit of pneumonia,' he said when Steve asked him about it. 'Apparently that gets you locked up and experimented on at war.'

'Do you need help walking?' Steve asked, and earned a pointed look and a straightening of the shoulders. Bucky's hand was perched on his gun like it was something he couldn't do without, and the hard look in his eyes told Steve that he was going to get back to camp without help if it killed him.

They were at the front of the formation, keeping point, and even if he was running a fever and not getting air in quite right, Bucky wasn't going to look weak. Steve could understand that.

'So,' Bucky ventured after a couple of hours of walking in the drizzling rain. 'Bet you can't keep the dames off you now, right?'

Steve ducked his head, and shot Bucky the most mortified look he could manage. 'I don't know how you always did it Buck, I really don't. It's exhausting.'

This earned him a laugh, followed by a couple of stifled coughs. Behind them, a couple of people listening into the conversation chuckled, and someone gave Bucky a slap on the back. With a heavy French accent, the soldier ribbed: 'Barnes! You never told us you were a lady-man.'

Several loud guffaws broke out, and someone quickly shouted, 'It's _ladies_ man, Durand!'

But Steve didn't miss the color rise on Bucky's currently pallid cheek bones.

'What can I say,' he called back, glancing over his shoulder with a cocky grin. 'Couldn't keep 'em off me! Looks like I'll have some competition now, though.'

Steve glanced down at the grass underfoot, and tried not to frown too obviously. He knew Bucky had been trying to pretend like _they_ never happened throughout boot camp, and the couple of double dates he'd dragged Steve on had been uncomfortable enough. He didn't expect anything else, especially not in front of a company of soldiers. But Bucky the doll dizzy go giver wasn't who he wanted to be walking back with.

'Did you keep your promise to me, buddy?' Bucky asked, as they kept marching.

'Which one?' Steve asked, although he knew exactly what Bucky was asking after. The promise that Steve had never actually made: had in fact _refused_ to make.

Bucky bumped him against his shoulder playfully – too playfully to be anything but for show with the general amount of energy Bucky could muster right then. 'Finding a nice gal, Cap!' he teased, significantly louder than necessary. Catcalls were made behind them, and Steve leveled a glare at Bucky that went unseen. Despite the pneumonia, Bucky was moving half a pace ahead of Steve, cracking his neck and not looking back.

Steve was silent for a long moment and then stepped a little quicker so that he was level with his friend. 'Bucky,' he muttered, but Bucky interrupted him.

'I'm gonna take that as a yes.'

Steve sighed. 'It's not a _no_ ,' he said, and saw the sudden flash in Bucky's eyes. It disappeared almost as quickly as it came, replaced by a cocky grin.

'Is she a dish? Blonde or brunette?'

'Brunette,' Steve said. 'But it's not--'

'Lighter or darker?' Bucky grinned, tugging at his own hair and meeting Steve's eyes challengingly.

Steve tightened his lips. 'About the same.'

'What a surprise,' Bucky murmured, and that one was low enough to be heard by just them, the rest of the company beginning to lag behind as Bucky barreled forward and Steve took long strides to catch up. 'What's her name, then?'

'Agent Carter,' Steve said, keeping his voice low enough not to be heard by anyone else. 'And she's back at camp if you wouldn't mind _shutting up_.'

Steve wanted to take the time to stop Bucky, to explain that he and Peggy weren't anything yet, and he didn't really have any intention of taking it anywhere anyway, because the one promise he was going to keep was his one not to acknowledge Bucky ditching him.

But this wasn't the time or place for _that_ conversation. Not in front of a whole company of weary and jubilant soldiers. Now was the time for sucking it up and putting on the sort of face the men could rally behind.

'Fine,' Bucky shrugged. 'Don't wanna go about embarrassing your gal. We'll talk about something else.'

' _Anything_ else, please, Buck.'

Bucky swung his step so he was facing Steve, taking his hand briefly off his gun to gesture at Steve. 'All this?'

Steve glanced down, and let out a breathy laugh. 'All what? I don't see much difference,' he joked.

Bucky gave him a strangely sincere smirk and replied: 'Me neither.'

The rain was soaking through Steve's uniform, and the march was long and noisy. The trundle of tanks and the chatter of the company carried them up the street with all the hustle of a bunch of fellas who just needed to get back to a warm bed and would trudge through anything to get that. But just for a moment, Steve caught Bucky's eyes and grinned, and Bucky gave him a quirk of the eyebrows, and the rain wasn't so cold.

'Well?' Bucky said pointedly after a moment.

'Well, what?'

'Give us a spin!'

Steve dropped his head forward heavily and rubbed a hand over his eyes, but obligingly turned on the spot.

'Hm.' Bucky's steps were muddy in the ground, and he sniffed, wiping his hand under his nose. 'Still no ass to speak of.'

*

Steve waited and waited for a chance to speak to Bucky privately, but nothing came up until they got assigned tents back at camp, nearly a full day later. Everyone was exhausted, blood shot eyes and wry smiles, and although Steve had a constitution stronger than probably all of them combined, all he wanted to do himself was crash and sleep for a week.

He couldn't imagine how Bucky was feeling. He was holding it together somehow, staying on his feet and grinning and laughing with the others, but Steve couldn't miss that whenever his friend thought no one was looking at him he swayed on his feet and blinked so heavily that Steve was worried that he'd just collapse on the spot.

Finally, Steve was able to curl his hand around Bucky's arm and lead him away.

'Where are we going?' Bucky asked around a wide yawn, just letting Steve guide him through the crowded camp.

'Bed,' Steve answered, and Bucky's face immediately softened.

'Oh thank Christ,' he muttered. 'Who are we bunkin' with?'

'No one, it's just you and me.'

'Benefits of being Captain America?'

'Well, they offered to refit the Major's cabin for me, but I've always thought a little humility goes a long way.'

'I'll bet, sir.' Bucky stifled another yawn behind his hand. 'Carter is pretty.'

They reached their tent, a comfortable and semi-permanent structure, fitted out inside with two bunks and a couple of dresser stands. Steve closed the tarpaulin behind them.

'Yeah, she is,' he said, keeping his voice low. It wasn't like it was really all that private anywhere on the camp, but this was the best he's going to get. 'And I like her a whole lot.'

Bucky threw himself down on the bunk, kicking up his heels and folding his hands behind his head. He closed his eyes.

'That's great, pal, I'm real happy for ya.'

'But she's not my girl, Buck,' Steve said, sitting down on his own cot. Bucky didn't change his expression or open his eyes. 'And she won't be. I'm, you know, carrying a torch for someone else.'

Seconds dragged out, and for a while Steve thought that Bucky might have genuinely fallen asleep going by his utter absence of reaction. He ventured a hesitant and quiet, '… Buck?' and his friend sighed.

'I'm awake, Steve,' he said. 'I really wish I wasn't. Couldn't be more goddamn exhausted.'

'Sorry, I'll let you sleep,' Steve said, lying back on his own bunk. Rest wasn't going to come for a while, he thought, no matter how tired he might be himself.

'I might still die in this war,' Bucky murmured. 'You get that, right?'

Steve drew in a deep breath through his nose, clenching his jaw. 'I thought you were dead once already,' he said.

'Only get so many false alarms.'

'Don't care,' Steve insisted. 'Didn't care before, don't care now. When I thought you were gone, do you know what my regrets were, Bucky?'

'Yeah, sure, what?'

'Following you around on those godawful double dates that we could have both skipped and made better time of at home.'

Bucky huffed out a sound that could have either been pissed off or amused. 'Alright. Good night, Stevie.'

Steve closed his eyes and frowned. 'Night, Buck.'

*

Bucky, quite understandably, slept through most of the following day. Steve got up with the sunrise, and spent a moment watching his friend's slack face as he drooled into the pillow, but quickly dressed and moved out. He was itching with the need to _do something_ , already over the exhaustion of the previous day and ready to get into the motions of winning a war.

Unfortunately, no one else seemed to be up for it yet. The whole camp seemed to be on a dozy, recovery and relief based leave, and Steve passed very few people before he found Peggy sitting at the command center going over some documents.

'Good morning, Steve,' she said, glancing up with a smile. 'You'd think it was peacetime, wouldn't you?'

'You were the one who said they'd been through hell,' he replied, coming up level to the table. 'Think they deserve the weekend, don't you?'

'Hm, maybe. How's your boy?'

'Out like a light.'

'Good,' Peggy said, and scribbled something out on the page in front of her before putting down the pen. 'I'm glad you found him, you were both extremely lucky. He's clearly very important to you.'

Steve sat down heavily on the chair, and ran a hand through his hair. 'You have no idea,' he replied, and Peggy quirked her lips.

'Well, before you start regaling me with stories,' she said and pushed her own chair back to stand up, 'I'm afraid I must actually be off.'

'Already? It's only oh-six-hundred.'

'London beckons.' She straightened her skirt, and bent to pack up her files. 'Don't worry, I'll be organizing travel for you soon. You'll follow along after the weekend, probably, and we'll start coordinating in earnest.'

Steve got to his feet. 'Great!' he said. 'I'll walk you to your car.'

Her arms full of documents, Peggy grinned. 'Excellent, we can stop on the way and shame some of the troops into getting out of bed with a healthy dose of patriotism.'

Steve laughed, but even after Peggy's car pulled out and disappeared into the distance, the camp continued to carry the dulled down quiet atmosphere for the rest of the morning, even once people did indeed start to rise and begin on maneuvers. The air was heavy and thick with moisture and a mild chill, and the clouds were weighted in the sky, unmoving. When Steve got back to his tent, Bucky was still not awake.

He didn't end up rising until mid afternoon, rubbing at his eyes and asking what time it was. He was overtired, yawning and blinking as he struggled to get out of his cot and dirty uniform, but Steve thought he looked a lot healthier than yesterday. He'd lost quite a bit of weight, Steve realized, not that there had ever been much on him but muscle anyway. He'd lost some of that, too. But there was color under his skin, his eyes were sharp, and he wasn't taking the labored breaths of someone recovering from pneumonia.

'Need a shower,' Bucky said, peeling off the tank he was wearing under his uniform and sniffing it. He made a face. Steve couldn't stop his gaze from lingering on Bucky's chest. He was grimy and slick with old sweat, and Steve could see the faint impressions of his ribs; but he was achingly familiar.

'The shower block is--'

'I know where it is.'

Bucky didn't move, though. He just sat there, dirty vest in hand, and watched Steve watching him. Steve was struggling to read his expression: there was something new to it, a lingering coldness that possibly had everything to do with Steve or absolutely nothing. It permeated from him, made the air hang heavy. But after a moment of staring, Bucky just dropped his head and laughed.

He looked up at Steve at an angle, one eye squinted and wearing a crooked smile.

'We're just dynamite knuckleheads, ain't we?'

'You might be,' Steve shrugged.

'Can I ask you something?'

'Course.'

'If you'd rocked up before, rescued all those fellas, wrecked that place to the ground, all of it. But I had already been dead, would you, after this is all over, probably marry Carter?'

Steve frowned and felt his cheeks getting hot. 'Peggy and I ain't even... I haven't even made a pass at her, Bucky.'

'That's not what I asked,' Bucky said, leaning forward and tightening his fists on the fabric of his tank.

'Maybe, I guess so, yeah,' Steve said finally, sighing. 'But--'

Bucky held up his hand. 'I'm not finished, Steve,' he said.

Steve looked at him questioningly and Bucky let out a long sigh.

'Okay,' he continued, 'so, if it had been different then, and we'd been – if I hadn't ended it, and we'd have done what we'd have done, written heavily coded love letters from the trenches and carried pictures of one another in our wallets and what else, and if I'd died as your lo-- lover, because that's what we were, Steve, if I'd died as your lover...'

Bucky stopped, looking up at the tarp ceiling, not meeting Steve's eyes. Steve could feel his heart thudding in his chest. Bucky's eyes, cast skyward, were glistening just slightly, and he scrubbed his hand down over his face roughly.

Finally he said: 'Would you have still ended up with Carter, then? Or would you have remained loyal to a memory of me for the rest of your goddamn life and never moved on?'

Steve was quiet for a long moment, thinking. 'You're not dead,' he answered, and Bucky shook his head with an expression of tightly constrained frustration. He let out an annoyed breath, but it came out choked.

'The war isn't over yet,' he pointed out.

'Neither are we,' Steve replied, and then scratched his neck. 'Or, well, yeah, I guess that _is_ up to you.'

Bucky nodded, and his expression melted back into something hard, but Steve wondered if this was the default, at ease Bucky now. He knew war changed people. He'd just always had it in his head that it couldn't, it could never change Bucky.

But when he had been laughing and joking and teasing on the walk back from Azzano, that hadn't been real. Steve knew that. That wasn't an honest Bucky, that was one trying to mask his pain and exhaustion and hide himself from Steve. If a hard-faced cooler Bucky was one that carried the truth inside him now, bore the innermost parts of how his friend existed most close to the surface, well. Then Steve thought that was who he wanted with him.

'We could both do with a hose down,' Bucky said finally, and rubbed at the scruff on his cheeks. 'And this is something.'

'Lets get you cleaned up,' Steve said with a warm smile, getting to his feet, and Bucky's lips twitched up at him.

The shower blocks were unoccupied – even the officer wouldn't arrive until 1600. They were scant, just a row of trough-like sinks with a few dull mirrors, and an area of concrete floor with wood decking to stand on, and three or four shower heads hanging from the ceiling. The room was open, dim and the air crisp.

Bucky stripped down quickly, and turned on one of the faucets, throwing his head back under the spray of water. A full body shiver wracked through his body, and Steve saw his eyes clench shut.

'Cold?' Steve asked, tugging his shirt over his head.

Bucky shook his head under the stream. 'Gettin' better.'

They'd showered plenty together over the years. In gym class back in school, in the housing tenement Steve and his ma had lived in. For Steve, seeing Bucky stripped down and scrubbing himself under the spray was an accustomed sight... but as Steve undressed and stepped into the shower, he saw Bucky's eyes widen as he looked at him out of the corner of his eye, and realized it wasn't so for him.

'Well,' Bucky said shortly, with a slight amused smirk.

Steve thought Bucky had overstated the warmth of the showers. The water was tepid at best.

'Well what?'

'Nothin',' Bucky said, grinning a little wider. And then murmured; 'Just glad to see you're still the little guy after all.'

Steve flushed, and Bucky just chuckled.

'The water is cold, Bucky,' Steve said defensively, but Bucky only snickered harder.

'No, Steve, I'm not tryin' to rag on ya. I like it, you know I like it.'

'Shove off.'

'C'mon, you know I'm not kidding,' Bucky said, rolling his eyes and scrubbing his fingers through his hair. 'It's not my fault the rest of you looks like goddamn Superman. Give me this, alright?'

Steve held out his hand for the soap. 'Okay,' he said, 'but unless, unless we're going to... can you not tell me how much you _like it_ , Buck. It's not fair.'

Bucky pressed the bar of soap into Steve's palm, slipped his lathered up fingers over Steve's wrist and paused. Then he sighed. 'Sure,' he said, and went back to scrubbing down his body as efficiently as possible.

Bucky exited the shower as soon as he was perfunctorily clean, and wrapped a towel around his waist. Picking up a razor, he went over to one of the barely reflective aluminum mirrors and started to shave. 'Someone could come in any minute anyway,' he muttered, barely loud enough for Steve to hear. 'And then where would we be? Dishonorably discharged.'

Steve pressed his hand against the shower wall. 'Dammit, Bucky!' he snapped. He splashed water on his face and kept his other hand there. He couldn't work out what the hell his friend's angle was, and now he was confused, conflicted and annoyed, as well as at half-mast.

Bucky glanced over at him, biting his lip and expression unreadable. He went back to shaving, careful and precise. 'I could take care of that,' he said, his voice not giving anything away. Steve just stared at him for a long moment, and didn't respond. He turned off the water, and dried himself down before pulling his trousers on.

'We are or we aren't, Buck,' he said, deadly serious. 'It's as simple as that. None of this toes in the water stuff, okay?'

He didn't wait for Bucky's reply, just left him shaving in front of the mirror, and walked out of the shower block.

*

Steve didn't return to their tent for a couple of hours, instead searching out Colonel Phillips and going over tactical matters. It was a good distraction, because suddenly, Steve felt bad. Why did he think _now_ was a good time to be forcing ultimatums on Bucky? After he'd been sick, and kidnapped, and experimented on, and nearly blown up.

The tactical planning was a good distraction, that is, until the guilt started eating at Steve so much that he had to excuse himself with a brusque: 'Apologies Colonel, would it be alright if we finished this tomorrow?'

'Hell, I assumed you were gonna take _today_ off,' Phillips replied with a shrug, not moving from his desk, so Steve saluted and left.

He returned to the tent, and it was empty. Empty, except for an unmarked note that sat on Steve's pillow. He picked it up and unfolded it.

 _We are_ , it read. Steve's heart thudded in his chest.

_I've gone into town, its about five miles south-east of here. So, I guess about a ten minute light jog for you? No one will see me. Don't let anyone see you go either, if you come meet me. And yeah, come meet me. I'm writing this at about 1600, and I'll need a couple of hours. Meet me at about seven? At the dance hall. You'll be able to find it, it's not a big town._

_Probably a good idea to eat this note, Steve. I didn't really bother making it too vague._

_Looking forward to being dishonorably discharged with you!_

_\- B_

_P.S. If this goes badly, it's your fault, you're the one who doesn't think things through. Got it? YOUR FAULT._

Steve looked at his watch, wishing he hadn't spent so much time with Phillips. It was already half past six. _Shit_. Making the distance to town in that time wouldn't be too bad – Bucky hadn't been too far off the mark with his joke – but getting out of the camp without anyone noticing? Steve, in general, wasn't so good with the stealth stuff.

He folded the note up again, and tucked it into his breast pocket before straightening the collar and lapels on his uniform and ducking his head out the tent thinking that this would have been easier when he was smaller.

Trying to walk casually, Steve made his way to the back of the camp, nodding as he passed a couple of privates on the way. He wondered what Bucky could have planned in town. Could he really just want to go dancing? Steve felt that he still needed to apologize to Bucky for trying to force him into making a decision about them. He didn't like being trapped in this limbo where they were everything and nothing all at once – antagonistic, chummy and tender by turns. But Bucky was clearly conflicted, it wasn't fair on him to try and force him into making a call either.

It was a quiet period of the evening. Most of the camp was in the mess hall, eating dinner. Nonetheless, Steve certainly didn't manage to leave without being seen – he just had to hope he left without looking suspicious enough for anyone to wonder where he was going.

Taking off at a light jog down the edge of the dirt road that presumably led to town, Steve told himself that when he got there, he was going to apologize to Bucky and tell him that he didn't need for them to be anything defined right now, they could be as vague and indefinable as Bucky needed them to be.

He reached the small, Italian town about ten minutes after seven. It was a nice place, quiet, but not so quiet that the streets were empty. Steve had a suspicion that the American soldiers came down here quite often, because no one even glanced twice at Steve in his military uniform, except one or two passers-by who paused and muttered to one another. It was possible the word about Captain America was spreading.

' _Mi scusi_ ,' Steve said, approaching a passing local and drawing on his middle school Italian, ' _uh, mi puoi indirizzare, er, alla sala da ballo?_ '

The woman just laughed and said something that Steve thought translated to _typical American_ , before giving him directions just a few blocks away.

' _Grazie_ ,' Steve replied with a smile, and she smiled back.

' _Avete bisogno di un partner?_ ' she asked, bringing a hand up to check her hair and the quirk of her lips slipping into something more flirtatious.

Steve spluttered. 'Um, no,' he replied quickly. ' _Mi dispiace. Um, io sono con qualcuno._ '

' _Naturalmente._ ' With a tight lipped smile now, the woman moved back off down the street, and Steve let out a low breath. He hadn't really been joking when he said he didn't know how Bucky had always dealt with all this attention.

He walked over the cobbled sidewalk, which glistened in the evening light from the rain which had been falling on and off over the course of the afternoon. And kept his eyes out for the dance hall. Most of the buildings were smooth stone and patchwork brick, built tightly together with round archways leading to small courtyards and entrances. There weren't many large buildings, so when Steve turned a corner into an open courtyard with wide stone steps leading up to a broad building that filtered out soft light and music, Steve knew he'd found the place.

He looked at his watch and glanced around. He was over twenty minutes late. That wouldn't be enough time for Bucky to have given up on him, surely. But where was he? There weren't many people around, just couples and small groups filtering in and out of the dance hall, laughing and chatting. There was an elderly man sitting at the fountain in the center of the square, a mother scolding her small child a few feet away for kicking small rocks at a kit of pigeons, and a dark haired woman leaning against the wall next to the dance hall steps, smoking.

Steve put his hands in his pockets and looked around again before moving to walk into the dance hall, wondering if Bucky was already inside.

The smoking woman pushed herself off the wall and wandered over, her heels clicking against the stone ground.

'I was starting to wonder if you were gonna show,' Bucky said, offering Steve a slight smile. His lips were painted a very deep red.

'Buh- Bucky,' Steve stammered, staring at his friend, all thoughts completely evacuating his brain. 'Holy hell...'

It was an utter transformation. Bucky was wearing a long maroon coat that cinched in at the waist, and Steve suspected he must be wearing a corset of some sort underneath, because there were definite curves under the cut of the outfit. He had sheer nylon stockings on, and little lace up black Oxford's shoes with a Cuban heel. He was wearing a light silk scarf that covered his adam's apple and tucked into the front of his coat. And his hair, well, it couldn't be _his_ hair. It fell to his shoulders, softly curled and styled, and he wore a navy blue beret with a small bow pinned to it, which sat back on the crown of his head.

His eyes were shadowed and painted on the upper lids, making them look even wider and clearer than usual.

'I didn't even recognize you,' he murmured. 'Jesus, Buck, you look amazing...'

Bucky just grinned, and Steve couldn't tell if he was blushing or just wearing rouge.

'How did you...?' Steve asked, still finding he was having difficulties forming complete sentences.

'Oh, I have a guy,' Bucky just said offhandedly, then laughed at Steve's stricken expression. 'No, not like, Jesus, Steve. I have a _tailor_. I told him I was doing a drag show for the troops to boost morale.'

'Oh, right.'

'Right.'

'Look, Bucky, before--' Steve kept his tone low, aware that right now, Bucky's voice was the only thing that gave him away. It was amazing, Steve thought, and disconcerting, because he could easily take Bucky's hand right now, or even lean in and give him a light, warm kiss, and no one would bat an eyelid at them. That was strange to him, because they were so used to being so cautious about what affection they displayed in public, but right now... Bucky was just a pretty dame, and Steve was a tall, handsome soldier taking her out on the town. For all intents and purposes, they looked as simple as that. '—Before we go inside, I just want to say I'm sor--'

'Nope,' Bucky said, interrupting him. 'We're not doing any of that. We're going dancing, got it?'

'I'm just saying--'

'Shut up.'

'I tried to push you into--'

'Stop it.'

'It was unfair of me.'

'Ugh.'

'You don't have to--'

'Steve.'

Steve sighed. 'Yes?'

'Can we go dancing?'

'Sure.'

Bucky grinned, and look Steve's hand in his own, leaning up to brush his lips over Steve's cheek. 'It's still weird that you're taller than me,' he muttered.

It was strange for Steve too, but definitely useful for blending in as they went into the dance hall. Bucky was obviously pretty tall for a lady, but instead of looking comically mismatched like Steve always worried they did when he was smaller, now they seemed to fit together easily. They looked well paired, he thought, catching sight of the two of them in a tall mirrored wall near the entrance.

It was a nice, open place – fewer people than the dance halls back in Brooklyn, which probably had a population twice the size of this town just in the Heights area. There was a band playing up on the stage, and people dancing across the hardwood floors, smiling and laughing and not casting more than second glances at Steve and Bucky – and those glances almost entirely lingered curiously on Steve and his uniform.

'Well come on,' Bucky murmured. 'I've been wanting to see how this body moves.'

Steve flushed. 'I haven't tried dancing, yet. I don't know if it'll be any, uh, better.'

'Well, can't be worse,' Bucky teased, and took Steve's hand in his own.

Bucky had always been a fantastic goddamn dancer. When he danced with dames, his feet would seem to defy gravity as he slid, hopped and twisted on the floor, his body canted forward and his mouth split in a wide grin. His eyes would sparkle.

Bucky's eyes still sparkled when he danced _as_ a dame, but Steve was amazed to see how much his movements changed. He still told gravity to go straight to hell, but his weight was centered completely differently, his feet tapping and bouncing off the ground completely differently in heels. His dancing was looser and smoother on the upper body, his arms by turns gliding through the air, hitching up the hem of his coat and the skirt under neath, and sitting lightly on Steve's shoulder, acting as if Steve was leading, when in fact it was naturally he who was guiding the dance.

Steve was just trying to keep up. He'd been getting kind of used to being immediately good at everything since the serum, and dancing with Bucky was, well, a bit of a wake up call.

'You're doing fine,' Bucky murmured, seeing the look of intense concentration on Steve's face and chuckling. Steve furrowed his brows.

'I jumped out of a plane the other day,' he replied. 'I took out nearly a whole base of guys, basically on my own, and jumped over an exploding fireball.'

'Yeah, I know, Captain Hero.'

'This should be easy.'

Keeping his voice pitched low, Bucky just said, 'That's different. Dancing, you know, needs more, uh, finesse.'

'You sayin' I don't have finesse?' Steve challenged as he narrowly avoided stepping on Bucky's left foot.

'I'm sayin' you might need to work on your finesse _a little_.'

Steve just grinned. 'I'll show you finesse,' he declared, and promptly spun Bucky on the spot, before messing up and making them both stumble and lose the tempo. Bucky cracked up in near silent laughter, coming close to rest his head on Steve's shoulder as they tried to get back into the rhythm of the dance.

'I love you,' he said through the tremors of mirth.

Steve just thought, _we don't say things like that_... but no one could hear them over the loud music of the band on stage and the simple fact that basically nobody cared what a pretty dame said to her handsome dancing partner.

'Me too, Buck,' Steve replied, and this time he did step on his foot.

*

Steve was sure they danced for hours, but in all honesty he lost track of time, so he had no idea how much had really passed. They eventually left the dance hall when it was near empty and Bucky had been dancing long and enthusiastically enough that his breaths were coming in short, shallow pants – but he was grinning, his hand staying loosely in Steve's as they exited the hall and wandered back towards the dirt road.

Bucky was laughing again, this time in peals of loud cackles since they were alone on the path and there was no one around to notice that his voice didn't exactly match his appearance. Steve couldn't help bit snicker along with him, even through there wasn't really anything _that_ funny they were laughing at. He felt like he was in a sort of dazed state, the state that one might get into being moderately tipsy, but not from alcohol – simply from losing himself to dancing and enjoying himself.

Bucky, meanwhile, was undoubtedly in a similar mood, except with the added (slightly hysterical) tinge of the relaxed, happy thrill he always displayed when he was all dolled up.

'Oh my god Steve, I left my uniform at the tailor's, we have to go back,' he said breathlessly between bouts of laughter. Steve tightened his grip on Bucky's arm, pulling him closer.

'They'll be closed,' he pointed out, and slid a hand down Bucky's coat to sit at his lower back, tracing over the hard bones of the corset. 'Mmm, I wanna see this, Buck.'

Bucky drew in an exaggerated scandalized gasp, lifting one hand to his mouth. The lipstick had faded a little, but still glistened in the moonlight. 'You wanna see my undergarments?!'

'Very, very much,' Steve grinned, and Bucky twisted around as they walked to press a kiss to his lips – the kid of sloppy kiss that came with stumbling movements and left them both smiling.

'Well, if you're very, _very_ good...'

'Always am.'

'Uh huh, well, I have someone goosing my ass telling me otherwise.'

'That's not me.'

Bucky nearly fell forward with another bark of laughter. 'That's not you?'

'Nope.'

'Who is it then, Steve? Who has their hand on my rear, Steve?'

'I dunno, a mountain lion?'

' _A mountain lion_?' Bucky took in a few deep breaths to try and hold back his laughter. 'Do they even _have_ mountain lions in Italy?'

'No. No they don't. Sorry, you were right. It is me.'

'Yeah, yeah I thought so. Where was I?'

'If I'm good?'

'Well you've already proved you're not, but if you can _behave_ the rest of the way back to camp, and if you can get me into the tent without us both being discharged--'

'– Oh, I intend for us to disch--'

'Ha! No, Steve, seriously, if you can get us into bed and be very, very quiet once we're in there. Then maybe, _maybe_ you can see what I'm wearing under the coat, okay?'

'You drive a hard bargain, Barnes.'

'I'll make it worth your while.'

Steve slipped his hand off the curve of Bucky's bottom, bringing it up instead to tug at a curl of the wig that he was wearing, then slip down to hold his hand as they walked. 'I'll bet you will,' he replied.

They walked flanked on both sides by the twisted trunks and hanging green leaves of the trees that lined the path. The dirt road underfoot wasn't dissimilar to the one on parts of the walk back from Azzano, but this time the night was clear, the stars a glittering canopy overhead, and Bucky was relaxed and happy (although complaining every few minutes about how long he'd been wearing the heels now).

'I could carry you,' Steve offered after he complained again, further down the road. 'We've still got another three and a half miles or so to walk.'

'Hmm,' Bucky mused. 'Bridal, fireman or piggyback?'

'How about up on my shoulders like a kid?'

'None of these options sound hugely lady-like,' Bucky replied, sniffing. 'I'll keep walking.'

'Are you going to keep complaining about you feet?'

'They hurt, Steve. But no. I'll shut up.'

He didn't. Bucky continued to grumble about the way his toes were pinching and the ache in the balls of his feet all the way back to camp, until finally Steve lifted him up and carried him bodily into the sea of tents.

'Hush, shh, be quiet Buck,' he murmured as Bucky let out a shocked burst of laughter which he quickly stifled, burying his face against Steve's shoulder. The camp was mostly silent around them, aside from the sound of wind beating on tarpaulin and the occasional murmur of hushed voices. 

Steve carried Bucky towards their tent until he began to kick his heeled feet and shake from the effort of holding back laughter. 

'Put me down, Steve,' Bucky hissed. 'Someone's gonna see.'

But no one did, and it was wish hushed whispers and quiet kisses that they slipped inside their tent and disappeared from the world. Bucky's dress slipped off like a second skin, his scarf drifted onto the cot, catching on the air, all silk and smooth fabric. The heels came off with a sigh of relief and the wig came off under Steve's fingers – his thumbs rubbing circles on Bucky's cheekbones. The lipstick came off with panting kisses, smeared away. 

And the garter belts, well, they stayed on. 

*

Steve woke the next morning to find Bucky crouched on the floor in a pair of standard issue trousers, shoving the clothes into a tarp duffel bag and yawning into his hand. His eyes were smeared from having slept in the make-up, and it made Steve grin, blinking blearily at him. 

'Mornin',' he murmured, and Bucky glanced over. 

'Hey,' he replied, and glanced down. He was holding the silk scarf in one hand, frowning slightly at it. 'Uh, you've been summoned, pal. Colonel's orders.'

Steve pushed himself up to his elbows. 'No one came in, right?'

'Thank Christ, no.' Bucky let out a huff of laughter. 'Gabe just called in for ya. Surprised you didn't stir. Something about London.' He looked up at Steve, and blindly packed the scarf in with the rest of the clothes, pulling the string on the back shut. 'You're headed off today, I think.'

'You're coming too,' Steve replied dumbly as Bucky wandered over to the cot and sat down. He looked tired, almost hungover, but he leaned in and pressed a dry kiss to Steve's lips nonetheless. 

'I don't have to,' he said. 'I can go wherever you want me.'

Reaching up, Steve carefully wiped away the smeared mascara from under Bucky's eyes. 'You mean you can go home? To Brooklyn?'

Bucky just shrugged. 'I can wait for you back on the home front, we can do the love letters thing. I can fret over you and send you care packages. Or I can come to London.' 

'What do you want to do?' Steve asked, carefully. 

Bucky shrugged again, lopsided. 'I just wanna be your girl,' he muttered. 'I don't give a rat's ass about any of the rest of this bull.'

'I think I need my girl on my six with a sniper rifle.'

Bucky glanced at the duffel bag on the floor, and kicked it over with the rest of their belongings. 'Then that's where I'll be.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm _so_ sorry about the Italian in this chapter. It's Google translate so it's probably awful. 
> 
> Just picture that scene from Inglourious Basterds. That might help soften the cringe factor.


End file.
